


Adding Insult to Injury

by Unsentimentalf



Series: Treason and Plot [2]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-06
Updated: 2011-12-06
Packaged: 2017-10-27 00:37:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unsentimentalf/pseuds/Unsentimentalf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Douglas is provoked, with unexpected results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adding Insult to Injury

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings; BDSM, minor violence

Seven o'clock. Douglas walks into the sitting room, towelling his hair with his left hand, looks without enthusiasm at the diminishing pile of DVDs. The time waiting for his sprained right wrist to heal is more boring than he would have imagined possible. Being single, broke, injured, unable to drive and slightly traumatised is rather preventing him enjoying the unexpected break in his schedule.

The tedium had sparked a phone call to Carolyn last night.

"And how is malingering suiting you, Douglas?"

"Oh, not bad, thank you. Are we insolvent yet?"

"That's not remotely amusing. Far too close."

"In which case I bring good news. Provided that I don't have to do too much heavy, or indeed any, lifting, I think I can safely fly again from tomorrow." Safely was pushing it, admittedly, but he was bored.

Carolyn hadn't sounded as pleased as he had imagined she would. "Well. That's lovely. But we haven't any flights booked until Monday. I've no use for you till then."

"But if you get a booking..."

"I'll let you know."

And thus another day stretches out before him, empty of conversation.

Sod this. Maybe Martin has some jobs on; Douglas isn't going to contribute anything in either the lifting or driving departments but he can offer a bit of entertaining commentary. He picks up his phone. God, he can't believe that he is reduced to calling up Martin for company.

"Hello? Douglas?"

"Good morning, Martin. Did I wake you?"

"No, I was just having some coffee before I left. Is everything all right? How's the arm?"

"Much improved, thank you. You've got a van job on today, then?"

"No. We're flying to Vienna at eight thirty."

Douglas is surprised, then exasperated. "Are we indeed? And when was Carolyn going to tell me this? Last night she said there were no bookings."

"Tell you? But you can't fly till next week!"

"You're making no sense, Martin. You just said we were going to Vienna."

"Not you. Me. Gertie."

Douglas sits down, cradling the phone to his ear. "You can't fly solo. Carolyn would have two dozen fits at the very thought of it." Martin with no-one to talk to him in a crisis, is, it is generally agreed within MJN, a recipe for disaster.

"I know that!" Martin clearly doesn't appreciate the reminder. "I've got a co-pilot."

Douglas is thoroughly bemused. "Carolyn's hired another pilot? From where?" And why hasn't she told him?

"Not hired, exactly. It's Herc."

Oh. "Right. Herc. Of course."

"I'm glad your wrist is improving. Was there anything else?"

"No, thank you, Martin. Nothing. Enjoy Vienna."

Douglas paces his small living room for a few minutes, stopping only for some very strong coffee. Hercules flying with Martin. Stepping into the breach. Harmless enough, except that Douglas will never mistake Herc for harmless again. Why has Carolyn lied? Why shouldn't he know?

One possibility is obvious. Herc could be, for reasons known only to himself and Carolyn, after Douglas's job. Whatever Herc is getting at Air Caledonia will be a great deal more that Carolyn is paying, but still Douglas can't rule it out, and he doesn't intend to stay at home and worry about it. If he can moreorless fly then he can moreorless drive.

 

Eight is earlier that he'd normally arrive at the airfield, but then the plane doesn't usually have the option of going without him. Douglas makes straight for the flight deck, finds Martin inside.

"Good morning again."

Martin blinks at him. "What are you doing here, Douglas? Why are you in uniform? You're not flying."

"Indeed no. We seem to have a surfeit of pilots, for a change. I thought I might turn my hand to a little light stewarding- do we have passengers on this one?"

"Yes, five of them. But Carolyn's coming. I don't think she needs any help."

"In that case I might try passengering for a change. I rather fancy Vienna today."

Martin still looks worried. "I suppose, if Carolyn says it's all right..."

Douglas has no intention of asking. He also has no intention of getting off. Carolyn is escorting the clients across the tarmac, Herc and Arthur bringing up the rear. They haven't gone as far as getting him an MJN uniform yet; he still wears the AC tartan.

Douglas waits in the cockpit, ignoring Martin's unease. He can hear Carolyn getting the passengers settled as Herc comes in.

"Good heavens, Douglas! What are you doing here?" Herc is quite obviously startled and not noticeably pleased.

"What am I doing on the flight deck of the plane that I'm employed to fly? Tricky. I can see why you're having difficulty with that one, Hercules. A rather more interesting question is what you're doing here. Don't you have a day job to keep you busy?"

"I had a few day's leave due, and Carolyn was down by a first officer. How's the wrist doing, by the way?"

"Sufficiently improved to make your presence superfluous. However since you've already got your shiny hat on you might as well do the work. Which of you is taking her out, by the way?"

"That would be me." Herc settles himself into the co-pilot's seat.

Edgy and awkward, Martin fusses, "You can't stay here during take-off, Douglas."

Douglas bites back annoyance. Being chased off his own flight deck..."Of course not. I wouldn't want to distract either of you. I shall enjoy the doubtless consummate professional performance from the comfort of the galley. Keep an eye on him, Martin. He's a little overcasual on take off checks sometimes."

He ducks his head and leaves.

"Douglas! What are you doing on my plane?" Carolyn doesn't sound pleased either. What a delightful welcome back all round.

"Going, as I understand it, to Vienna. And coming back again as well, I imagine. Would you like me to make some coffee?"

"No, I would like you to get off. You're on sick leave. I'm not insured to have you on the flight."

Douglas has already been kicked off his flight deck. He isn't going to be kicked off his plane. "I told you last night that I was fit for work. Work is this flight which, I can't help noticing, somehow slipped your mind when we spoke. Why shouldn't I come?"

"We've got a full crew. You're not needed." Carolyn is positively bellicose.

"Hey, Douglas! Did you know Herc's doing your job? Are you going to help us instead? That would be brilliant!" A timely arrival from Arthur. Douglas smiles.

"Yes, Arthur. I thought that would be rather fun. You're paying me either way, Carolyn. The marginal cost of the extra fuel to carry an additional 80 kilos over 2,500 kilometres is not going to come to much more than the price of the couple of cups of coffee I'll drink. And I want to come to Vienna. I'm bored."

That isn't entirely true. He isn't bored any more. He is throughly annoyed that after years of possibly not always hardworking but definitely "turning up and getting the job done" service, he is off for a week and everyone except Arthur seems distinctly reluctant to have him back again. Douglas Richardson, pariah. The sensation is starting to feel uncomfortably familiar and he knows exactly who is to blame.

"Of course you can come. He can come, can't he, Mum? It's been weird without you...obviously Herc is absolutely brilliant, but he isn't you. I mean you know that, because you're you. If you were both you that would be really odd, because there would be two Douglas's, but actually there haven't been any, which has been not so good."

This isn't the first flight Herc had piloted in the last week then? Douglas puts on his relaxed smile, waits. Martin's voice comes over the intercom, warning for take off. Carolyn sighs. "You're not getting any of the cheese board. And you can make all the coffee."

"Petty and meanspirited as ever. And don't think that I didn't notice that no-one sent me any flowers." He takes hold for take-off, left hand, his right in his pocket with the painkillers. This could be a trying day.

 

"Coffee, gentlemen." Not a hint of the discomfort that carrying mugs in both hands is causing bleeds through to his voice.

"Bogota. Thanks, Douglas. There will do." Herc gestures at the usual spot on the console without turning round.

"Good one. How about Delhi, though?" Martin does at least glance round at Douglas. "Mine there too, thanks."

"Delhi is spot on. That puts you two ahead again, Captain. I may have to concede defeat on this one."

Douglas places the mugs down exactly as directed and retreats without another word.

 

Vienna is an urgent business meeting. The customers take a taxi into the city and Gertie's staff have nothing to do but wait at the tiny airport for their return in a few hours' time.

There is very little at Danubepier airport to keep any of them amused for long. Not even Arthur can raise much enthusiasm for a canteen, a newspaper kiosk and a taxi rank. Most of the low cost airlines fly into Vienna International these days and this is a place badly in decline. Douglas hasn't been here before and he concludes very rapidly that he will be perfectly happy never to visit it again.

He sits at the scratched and fading orange formica table nursing a mediocre mug of coffee and listening to Herc tell them about the landing two days earlier at Dubai. From what he can tell Martin got into a completely unnecessary squabble with ground control but that isn't how Herc is presenting it.

"The Captain wasn't having that, were you, Martin? He told ATC that we'd been holding for nearly an hour already..."

The way he drops "Captain" in occasionally without the faintest trace of sarcasm is both impressive and nauseating. Martin positively glows. Douglas could cut him down to size with a couple of well chosen remarks but for once he holds his tongue. Martin isn't his target.

"You're unnaturally quiet, Douglas. Is that wrist bothering you?" Carolyn has been watching him, sharp-eyed.

"Not at all." He smiles at her. "I'm just enraptured by Herc's voice. We first officers are natural storytellers you know."

"Don't I know it!" She seems reconciled to his presence now; he's made the effort to charm her on the flight. And he hasn't challenged Herc once. Not here, not in public. Not yet.

The kiosk provides a deck of cards and several packs of the Austrian equivalent of Smarties and they spend a couple of hours playing poker until Douglas possesses a large pile of sugar coated chocolates and everyone else has nothing. Herc, he is interested to discover, is not a natural card player. The only real competition has been Carolyn. It has taken a little sleigh of hand in the end to part her from her last few colourful spheres.

"These aren't bad." He pops a couple into his mouth. "Rather nice. I probably shouldn't eat them all, though. How about a wager? What will you put up against the green ones, Herc?"

"I could just buy some more, if I wanted them," Herc points out.

"You could, yes. You could reach over the table and grab some, too. Neither would be remotely within the spirit of the occasion. Whatever acceptable behaviour with respect to the exchange of foreign Smartie equivalents might be in the high and far-off hills of Caledonia, here at MJN Air we do have standards. You win them or you lose them. You do not buy another packet."

"Or in your case, presumably, steal them. This is all rather ridiculous," Herc declares.

"So is stripping naked and covering yourself with blue woad, but were I substituting for you no doubt I would be called upon to do so by your cheerfully barbaric colleagues. Man up, Hercules. If you want them, you have to win them."

Herc sighs."The red ones, then, if I have to play this inane game. There are more of them."

"Very good. The red ones against..." He pretends to cast around for an idea. "I know. The flight tomorrow."

"What do you mean, Douglas?" Carolyn is suspicious, of course.

"Well, Herc had been planning to fly tomorrow, before I came back to work. Why  
shouldn't he do so? I find that rather like being flown around the place."

"A day's work is hardly equivalent to a handful of sweets," she complains. "This is lazy even for you."

"Had you any other plans for tomorrow, Herc?" Douglas asks.

"No, I hadn't." Herc is easily lured in; he is all too clearly enjoying flying for MJN. "The stakes are acceptable. What's the contest?"

"There's little enough action around here, but we do have a ringside seat for the runway. If there's a take-off first I win, if a landing you do."

Herc wins the red sweets, much to his chortled delight and Douglas's claimed chagrin. Douglas can live with the loss; he's ensured his place back on his flight deck for tomorrow.

"Enough of this noxious merrymaking. The greens are still on the table, Herc. Are you up for a rerun?"

"Same stakes?"

"No, you've escaped flying. But you could make the coffee tomorrow, if you lose."

Douglas wins that one, as he intended. Hercules won't be leaving Fitton tonight. He claims boredom, distributes the other sweets around and buys another round of coffees.

Half an hour later he trails Hercules out to the men's toilets, catches up with him at the wash basins.

"How about a drink, after we land?"

Herc shakes his head, dismissive. "Sorry, Douglas, can't do. I'm having a meal with Carolyn."

"Let me try running that past you again. There are a number of things we're going to discuss. Carolyn and Martin and Arthur can be there or they can not be there. Which do you think is best?"

That gets Herc's attention. He stands quite still for a moment, water dripping off his hands, then shakes them rapidly, reaching for a paper towel.

Douglas wipes his own hands dry, nods to Herc and walks back out to the canteen, smiling.

 

The business people finally arrive back at the airport and Gertie flies them home without incident. Both men are quiet for a while as Douglas drives through the foggy night. Then,

"Where are we going?"

"My place."

"What about that drink?"

"You can have an orange juice when we get there." Douglas is concentrating on keeping the wheel steady every time he changes gear.

Herc watches him. "That wrist is still bad."

"Not your business."

Silence.

Back at the flat Douglas shrugs off his jacket and reaches for the paracetamol and the wrist brace.

"You really shouldn't be flying." Herc has draped himself over the sofa, is watching with interest. "Better let me take her up tomorrow."

"That's my problem. And the only time you're going to set foot on that flight deck again is when you're bringing me my coffee. Is that clear?"

Herc laughs, apparently genuinely amused.

"Ah. That's rather adorable. You're jealous of your tiny little plane, and your tinier little job. I'm a captain with a real airline, Douglas. Why would I want to be first officer on a wreck like Gertie?"

"I've no idea. But the motives of anyone who voluntarily spends time with Carolyn have to be suspect. I don't care what you're playing at. This is the only warning you get."

"Really?" Herc sits up a little, eyes brighter. "That's a threat, is it? Found some nerve in the last week from somewhere? Fascinating." His smile is crocodilian. "I've decided that it would be professionally negligent of me not to pass on my concerns about your fitness to fly to Carolyn. Any chance you could make me a coffee while I'm here?"

Afterwards Douglas can never quite work out why his reaction is so uncharacteristic. His plan has been to get Herc alone and persuade the man of the folly of taking him on head on, hold the threat of a heart-to-heart with Carolyn over him. Words have always been his weapon.

Maybe it is the nagging pain in his wrist, for which he blames Herc in no little amount, or the long day of humiliation on the plane, entirely Herc's fault. Maybe it is the way Herc is laughing at him from the comfort of his own sofa, as if it were all a game instead of Douglas's job and far too much of what passes for his life these days at stake. Maybe it is the deliberate provocation, that glint in the man's eyes.

Whatever it is, there is no hesitation. He steps forward, smashes his good hand back across the smug mouth, steps back again, both shocked at himself and grimly satisfied. The back of his hand smarts for a few seconds as if he had been the one injured.

Herc's hand comes up to his mouth and he pulls it back to look at the red stain across the back of his hand. His lip is cut badly. "That hurt," he says, quietly.

"It was intended to. I suggest that if you don't want a repeat performance you get off my sofa and make the damn coffee yourself." Douglas is truly angry.

Herc looks at him for a few seconds without noticeable expression, then stands up and walks to the kitchen. Even through Douglas's fury he feels astonishment. He can hear the start of the kettle murmuring, the chink of the mugs being brought down from the cupboard. Herc can't possibly be actually intimidated, can he? By that?

Douglas settles himself into the vacated sofa, waits, trying to get his composure back. Eventually Herc reappears, carrying two mugs, stands a couple of feet away, waiting.

What should he say to a man he's just hit in the face? Douglas is still shocked at the physicality of his reaction but not remotely sorry. Herc has been asking for it. That thought catches at him and he raises an eyebrow.

"Was that what you were after?"

"The coffee?" Herc's voice is deep and calm.

"Not the coffee. Your attempt to make me lose my temper."

"A bit more than an attempt." Herc looks round for coasters, puts the mugs down. "I would say that I'd definitely succeeded."

"You pushed too far, you mean."

"Do I?" Herc makes himself comfortable in the armchair opposite Douglas, picks up one of the mugs.

"You're the one bleeding. Go on, tell me that was your plan all along."

"If you like, I shall. It was my plan all along." Herc is sipping at the coffee, wincing.

"Why?"

Herc just smiles at him. Douglas's temper isn't much improved at this point. He is being maneuvured and he doesn't know where.

"Are you after my job, Hercules?"

"Not for a moment. Carolyn couldn't possibly afford to pay me what I'm worth, she'd be hell to work for, and while Martin is a decent chap he'd still drive me crazy in under a fortnight."

"So why didn't Carolyn tell me you were flying in my absence?"

"Because I asked her not to. I knew that you'd find out about it, and how your mind would work. Watching you trying to scrabble around desperate to keep your rather pathetic junior position today was absolutely hilarious."

So it has all been a massive practical joke at his expense. "Last week's guilt trip didn't last long, then." He can't help the bitterness in his voice.

"That's not quite the point."

"What on earth is the point, Hercules? What are you trying to do?"

Herc puts the coffee down, sighs. "I thought I might have to spell it out to you."

"Spell what out?" Douglas feels they are going round in circles, and he isn't getting any better tempered about it.

"Last week you asked me a question. Several times."

Douglas frowns. "I remember the question."

Herc leans back, crossing his legs. Not quite as relaxed as he is pretending. "What did you think the answer was?"

"That you'd been reading too many bad thrillers. Come on, Herc. No-one could mistake you for a sexual predator for a moment. Look at you and Carolyn. You're far too fond of being pushed around..." He trails off, looking at the bloodstained lip.

"And then there's you, Douglas. Push you and you push back hard. And you rather enjoy it."

Douglas starts to comprehend. "You're playing with fire."

"Precisely." A middle-aged pilot, settled comfortably in Douglas's armchair, talking far too calmly about something that isn't practical jest, or healthy competition, or even honest blackmail. Something more twisted than any of those.

"So much for your moral high ground." Douglas keeps his own voice calm. "All that humility crap was just cover."

"Not at that point. My original intentions were entirely honourable; you are an unpleasantly cocky liar and thief who deserved cutting down to size. But every time I scored a point I found myself getting a little bit...more than a little bit... of a kick out of imagining how you'd choose to retaliate. And I have quite a vivid imagination. Which is why I'm here."

This is honestly bewildering. He desperately needs to think; Douglas stands up, picks up his coat. "I'll be back in ten minutes."

 

It is more like forty five minutes, but Herc is still there, relaxed in the armchair with a book. He looks up as Douglas comes in. "The wanderer returns at last. I thought you'd got lost. Any conclusions?"

"Make me another coffee and I'll tell you."

Douglas sips the hot drink, looks across at Herc's ordinary face, trying not to let his doubts show. He isn't sure that he can do this, even less that he should. But the temptation to try is just too strong. How else can he stop the man playing him for a fool?

"I'm far too old to take up roleplaying, and I only ever play games to win. No acting. No safewords. You wanted a response and you're going to get one, so now you take the consequences or you beg off and back out for good."

Herc nods, serious for once.

"You'd better cancel your dinner date, hadn't you?"

A swift shake of the head. "Can't do that. Carolyn's still expecting me."

Douglas laughs. "You have just spent the entire day doing your best to provoke me, and you think I'm going to respect your prior social commitments? Call her and cancel. Or I will."

This could end right now. He has no real hold over Herc except that which the man chooses to give him. This might not be playacting but it does have some rules.

Herc pauses, eyes flicking around the room then back to Douglas, finally pulls out his phone.

"Carolyn. I'm terribly sorry, but Douglas is badly in need of my help here, and things are going to take a couple of hours."

There is a lengthy reply. "Quite. Definitely overdoing it. If you want my professional opinion," his eyes meet Douglas's, "he's not going to be fit for anything except making coffee for days yet. I'll see you tomorrow morning. Goodnight."

He puts the phone away, smiling.

No question but that Carolyn won't let him fly tomorrow, now. "Oh, very nice. Just making sure you'd pushed hard enough, were you?" Douglas can feel his temper seething, ready to be used. To be indulged.

"You aren't fit to fly." Herc points out, smug. "Merely doing my bit to help the team."

Douglas's lingering ethical doubts are evaporating with the evidence that Herc is still having fun screwing him around. Will carry on screwing him around, unless stopped.

"You know, I'm starting to think that this is going to be an absolute pleasure." He kicks off his shoes, stretches out his legs along the sofa, relaxes back. "I think I'll start where you did. Take off your clothes."

Herc is in pretty good shape for what Douglas guesses is very close to his own age. He tries not to look too enviously at a frame still more muscle than middle aged spread. Yet again Herc has claim to a great deal that Douglas hasn't, but then Douglas still has his clothes on.

Douglas finds his eyes skipping past the man's genitals; a habit of politeness that Herc doesn't deserve. He looks, deliberately and ostentatiously. It all seems unremarkable enough and he is about to move on when he sees the twitch, then the slight flush, the gradual swelling to something definite under his curious inspection. He glances up, catches the moment of uncertainty before Herc smiles boldly back at him.

Douglas knows something, theoretically, of perversions. Naturally this will be a sexual thing, for Herc. He isn't sure why that should come as such a surprise to him, except that if the idea of the inveterate womaniser as bisexual seems unlikely somehow, the idea of the man being attracted to Douglas is even more outlandish.

Douglas considers himself effectively straight. If occasionally he find men's bodies unexpectedly arousing-if on even rarer occasions he's acted on that- he tends to keep that to himself. Romance- all right, sex- is quite complicated enough without adding another gender. He wonders if Herc expects him to get off on this little powerplay. For the first time it occurs to him that maybe he will.

The sight of the fifty-something man naked and semi-erect isn't doing anything for him now, anyway. The show he's enjoying is the one on the man's face. When the pause gets long enough, he speaks.

"There's a packet in my right hand coat pocket. Get it." He dropped into a DIY store while he was out.

Herc draws the small white paper bag out, tips the contents into his hand. He raises an eyebrow at Douglas. "You've done this before."

"No. I've just read plenty of bad thrillers. Pass them here. Now, hands behind your back."

He tightens the long cable tie around wrists set back to back. "How does that feel?"

Herc shrugs. "Not a problem."

"Really?" Douglas tugs a couple more points through. "Now?"

"Uncomfortable."

"That will do."

The doorbell rings. Excellent timing. Douglas picks up the takeaway he ordered on the way back to the flat, takes it though to the kitchen. It has been a long time since the scrappy meal in the airport canteen and the smell of the chinese food is rich and tempting.

Herc has come to lean against the doorway, watching, apparently no longer bothered by his nakedness or what it reveals.

"Hungry?" Douglas asks.

"Yes,"

"Good." He fills a single plate with food, returns to the sofa. Indicates a spot on the floor beside him. "Down there."

Herc drops to his knees obediently, watches as Douglas makes a start on satisfying his own hunger. "I suspect my arteries are thanking you for being spared that lot," he comments cheerfully. "Don't have any salad in the house, do you?"

"No." Douglas offers a forkful of fried rice. "This or nothing. It is guaranteed vegetarian however; I do try to be a perfect host."

Herc bends forward awkwardly to take the food off the fork with his mouth. Douglas goes back to eating, slowly, savouring the experience, feeding the occasional mouthful to the man at his feet. A truly odd sensation, to have someone's unembarrassed obedience so perfectly under his control. So ripe for exploitation.

He takes the empty plate back to the kitchen, refills it, then places it on the floor tiles with a bowl of water.

"Herc!"

"Yes?" The man has appeared at the doorway.

Douglas jerks his head at the dish on the floor. "Your dinner. You can come back into the sitting room when you've finished it."

He pours himself an orange juice, returns to the sofa, leaves the door nearly closed. Thinks, with a great deal of satisfaction, of Herc's offhand dismissal of the coffee on the flightdeck earlier, as he listens to the chink of the plate on the tiles. There is a long silence following, long enough that he starts to consider taking a look in the kitchen, but eventually the door is pushed open.

"Messy." Douglas comments. There are smears of black sauce across Herc's face, and a rice grain stuck to his cheek.

"That was childish." Herc finally seems to be put out.

"Wrong. It was undignified. It could have been a great deal more so. You might consider that." Douglas heads for the bathroom, turns the shower on. "Clean yourself up."

Herc spends a long time with the shower running. He re-emerges, dripping wet, hands still bound behind him. "Towel?"

Douglas gets him to kneel in front of the sofa, wraps a large bath sheet around him and starts to rub him dry. Treat him as a helpless child, see how that goes over. He hasn't made any sort of study of these things. He's playing it by ear here, and that's at least half the fun.

Under the towel Herc's body doesn't feel even remotely like a child's. It has been a while since Douglas has been in this close physical contact with anyone. He applies the towel harder and Herc starts to make small noises, protest or more likely encouragement. Douglas becomes acutely aware that this body is his, right now, to treat any way he wants. And yes, that's a turn on, and yes, he is getting turned on.

He shifts from head and arms to run the towel over the man's stomach, the inside of his thighs, then a few rough pushes with the thick fabric between his good hand and Herc's now fully hardened cock, hearing the sharp intake of breath with every stroke.

Too fast, too soon; he needs to stay in control. The shower is still running. Douglas stands up. "Wait there."

Under the needling water he runs a hand over his own erection, still incredulous. Of all the people to get turned on by, Hercules Shipwright has to be the most unlikely: wrong age, gender, appearance and he really doesn't like the guy at all. But Herc on his knees, tied up and obedient; that's enough, apparently, to throw away the rule book. And Herc knew that long before the thought had even crossed Douglas's mind.

This is where it could go wrong. Where Herc could have the last laugh, if Douglas isn't careful. Desire is vulnerability; he needs to exploit Herc's, protect his own. Still, the possibilities...

He wraps himself in his dressing gown and goes back to the sofa. Herc is sitting back on his heels, thick erection hanging heavy under his black haired, slightly paunched stomach, eyes bright.

Douglas has picked up up a couple more cable ties. "Right ankle."

Herc shifts to place a hairy ankle into his lap, pushing his toes deliberately into Douglas's groin. Douglas isn't allowing any liberties; he slaps the bare calf sharply, tugs the foot back, runs a tie around it, tightened to just touch the skin.

"And the left." He isn't sure yet what he wants to attach them to but it never hurts to be prepared.

"How are the wrists?"

"Tolerable."

"Show me." Herc needs his wrists and hands undamaged for flying.

The skin around the tie is chafed red and possibly starting to swell. Douglas hunts out a couple of old sports wrist guards, runs a new tie around the protection they give on each wrist, joins them together with a third. It probably isn't kidnapper level secure but it will get them through this evening.

"Any pain now?"

"No. Thank you."

"You patched me up. Just returning the favour." While he's been doing that he's been thinking about their situation. He needs more information.

"So. Are you bringing experience to this, or just enthusiasm?"

"That depends on what you mean by 'this'." Herc's looking happy again. That is going to have to change. "Cable ties are new. Men aren't. What about you?"

"Me? I'm in charge. Trust me, I am entirely familiar with that state of affairs."

He's going to have to find something to do that Herc really doesn't like, or this whole evening will have been just for the man's amusement and Douglas will have no hope of keeping him honest tomorrow. Just being tied up naked is clearly Herc's idea of satisfying foreplay. Warm and fed and anticipating sex; the man might as well be purring, Douglas thinks, annoyed.

Smug felines get chucked out into the night. Douglas opens the door to the small balcony and a faceful of November wind. Not wintry, quite, but definitely chilly.

"Come on."

Herc reluctantly follows him out. Probably no-one is looking up at them from the gardens below. Douglas doesn't much care.

"Kneel down here."

"Freezing to death wasn't part of the deal." Herc doesn't move.

"I've no intention of killing you. The explanations afterwards would be awkward, to say the least. Do it."

Slowly, reluctantly, Herc does.

Douglas slips a tie around a balcony strut, attaches it to an ankle. He goes inside and comes back out with his spare duvet, which he tucks carefully around the shoulders of the kneeling man.

"I wouldn't move if I were you, or it will just fall off. If that happens, shout very loudly indeed and I'll probably hear you over the TV."

"Douglas!" That's a satisfying growl. Douglas smiles and closed the balcony door from inside.

He does put the TV on for a bit but he is more interested in keeping a watch on the huddled figure outside. Never mind killing the man, he isn't planning to even go as far as mild hypothermia. Just the twin discomforts of a cold draught up the backside and trying to maintain one position without shifting. And hopefuly a little bit of fear.

When the duvet does slip, after about ten minutes, he is out there almost before it has settled on the cold tiles.

"Shall I put this back on again for you?"

"Let me back inside." Herc is shivering hard.

"Say please."

"Please."

Douglas snips through the tie, picks up the duvet. "Come on, then."

Inside, he helps the man onto the sofa, tucks the duvet tight around him. "What's 57 and 86?"

"One forty three?"

"Sounds about right. Want a coffee?"

"I'd rather have a double whiskey."

"So would I, which is why there's only coffee."

By the time he comes back with it, Herc's shivering is down to intermittent. "How do you feel?"

"Cold. You bastard."

"This is what happens when you screw me over all day for your own amusement, Hercules. Did you really think you'd get away with a bit of light bondage? You were having far too good a time on that."

He shifts the man forward, severs the tie between his wrists. Herc brings his stiff arms around painfully slowly, cursing vehemently.

"Tell me when you can hold the coffee mug."

Hercules tells him what he can do with the fucking mug. Douglas laughs. "Much better. Drink up, and we'll move on with proceedings. One of us has to fly a plane tomorrow, and I believe you think that's going to be you, so you may wish to get this finished before it gets seriously late."

Herc doesn't look as if he wants any more proceedings of any sort; huddled under the duvet cradling the hot drink he looks about ready to crash. Douglas reminds himself of Herc's bullying when he'd been tired and in pain, pushes the first stirrings of sympathy aside. He hasn't done enough yet. It's important- essential- that he win comprehensively tonight.

Keep things mixed up and Herc off balance. Part of Douglas is mildly appalled at his own capacity to enjoy this. Most of him is just enjoying it. When Herc finally puts the empty mug down Douglas picks up another handful of cable ties, stands up.

"This way. You won't need the duvet."

Herc shivers. "I'm still really cold."

"Your lucky night. I'm about to fix that." He leads the way into the bathroom, gestures to the bath. "Kneel down in there."

Herc clearly doesn't understand precisely what he's in for, because he kneels down willingly enough facing the taps, lets Douglas run a couple more loops behind his back, left wrist to right ankle then right to left. The man isn't going anywhere. The sight of his cock, shrunken by the cold to pathetic proportion, is only one of many things about this that has been fueling Douglas's own hard-on, which now refuses to stay obscured by his dressing gown. He has started to think about sexual release as much as his final victory. He has a plan, for both.

He smiles, wickedly delighted. "Still cold?"

"God, yes."

"Want the hot water on?"

"Please."

Herc has even said please. That almost makes it all right. Douglas turns the shower extension on full, steps back to watch.

Herc is entirely unprepared for the effect of the powerful spray full in the face. Coughing and choking, the bonds stopping him from ducking forwards out of the water, he can only turn his head and that not far enough away. He starts sliding around the bathtub, struggling desperately as the spray beats at him.

A few seconds are enough. Dropping the dressing gown, Douglas steps under the shower, his body blocking the flow, the hot water pounding against his shoulders.

Herc coughs water out of mouth and nose and looks up, relief and apprehension both clear. Perfect. Douglas feels a sharp twist of satisfaction, an ache of anticipation for the conclusion. He is going to win so hard. He lets the triumph sound in his voice,

"If I'm going to stand here I need a suitable incentive. Don't you think? Or I might get bored and wander off."

He watches the slow quiver of the twisted muscles pulled tight across Herc's shoulders, studies the careful blank expression that has come over his face. Douglas suddenly wonders if the man has become so immersed in this that he's forgotten that he can always end it. If so, that is Herc's problem, not his. The emergency exits were clearly pointed out at the start of the flight.

Eyes come up to meet his, dip away, before Herc leans forward as far as his awkward position will allow, just far enough for the tip of his extended tongue to brush over the end of Douglas's cock.

It's more the idea than the slight sensation that has Douglas catch his breath. He moves forward a couple of inches, buries his good hand in Herc's wet hair, not pulling, yet, just resting there. Herc has stilled again, eyes closed.

"Second thoughts? Want me to run through your choices again?"

"No." Even subdued, that deep voice resonates in the bathroom. "Give me a minute."

"No." He is giving the man no respite tonight. Off balance, all the way. He pushes forward so his erection slides across Herc's damp cheek, back to rest against closed lips. Out of patience, almost quivering with expectation. "Now. Or I move."

Lips part, then close again around the head of his cock, deliciously tight. For a few seconds he lets the man work at it, tongue busy. There's nothing token about this now, nothing overtly reluctant. Complete submission and Douglas can't keep his eyes off it. He tends to think that he's done most things in his time, but this is not quite like any sex act he's ever had performed on him. He's manipulative, sure, but he's never actually bullied anyone into sucking him off before. To say he rather likes the feeling would be an understatement of epic proportions.

Herc is dipping his head rhythmically, quite fast, quite deep, struggling occasionally to keep his balance in the slippery bathtub. Douglas feels his climax building faster than he can control; he will come like a bloody freight train soon, but staying this passive for long isn't anywhere in tonight's game plan.

He tightens his hand around the back of Herc's scalp, pulls him forward just enough to yank arms up and attached ankles off the ground, until Herc is unbalanced on his kneecaps, only the hand in his hair stopping him falling forward into Douglas's groin. Then Douglas cups Herc's chin with his tender right wrist and starts to thrust in earnest into the captured mouth.

Oh, that's so much better. Herc is completely helpless, unable even to get enough purchase on the bathtub to struggle, unable to voice a protest. Douglas pauses just long enough to speak to the pinioned man whose face is contorted around his cock.

"I did warn you that I only ever play to win."

He starts moving again, revelling in the rough, irregular friction against Herc's lips and tongue and the roof of his mouth. Just before the point of no return he has the presence of mind to let go of Herc's hair, push him back onto his heels and pull his screaming erection back into his own fist's tight grasp. Some things need explicit consent and there's no time to get it now, just to look down, panting and far too keyed up to take care for his sore wrist as he jerks it back and forth and ejaculate spatters across chest hair.

Douglas stands with his legs apart and his left hand balanced on Herc's head for a few moments, waiting for his thoughts to clear and his heartrate to settle. That was good. Unexpectedly good. Play-acting dominance has never appealed to him, but this is something different. Something much better. He wonders if Hercules will ever speak to him again.

Herc's head is bowed, eyes closed, chest heaving. Douglas turns the shower off, recovers the scissors, cuts all the ties off, frowning at the bleeding cuts on ankles where plastic has cut slightly into the still cold flesh. He starts to run a bath of warm water around the motionless man, adds a little disinfectant.

"Give me a shout if you need any help." he says, going for matter of fact, picks up his dressing gown and goes through to clear up the kitchen. After a couple of minutes he hears the running water stop. Herc is moving, then; Douglas thinks it best to leave him to it. Instead he finishs the washing up and makes a pot of tea.

When Herc finally emerges from the bathroom with a towel tied around his waist, Douglas has put some Mahler on the CD player and is finishing yesterday's crossword.

"Tea?"

"Is it safe?" Low, careful voice.

"It's just tea. I think that's probably enough fun for one night."

"Oh. Thank God for that." Herc takes a cup, sits down on the sofa. "Because it turns out that my imagination was nowhere near vivid enough. Can I have some of those painkillers? I think I've wrenched a muscle in my shoulder."

Douglas snorts, rather pleased at the confirmation of his win, inclined to magnanimity. "On the table. It's getting late. I'd better drive you to wherever you're staying. Unless you'd prefer to kip here?"

Herc seems to be considering his face carefully. "Given our various aches and pains, you shouldn't be driving, and I shouldn't be sleeping on a sofa. If that invite extends to your bed, I'll take it; otherwise I can call a taxi."

Neither outraged nor intimidated, then. Remarkable, really, in the circumstances. And proposing what, exactly? Douglas really doesn't have the energy left for another round of giving Herc hell tonight.

"You can share the bed, but if you irritate me I'll only tie you to the radiator and leave you there until morning. I need some sleep."

"I wasn't planning on rubbing you up the wrong way. Rather the opposite."

Herc's voice has settled into a comfortable slow drawl again. That's a come-on and Douglas is momentarily unsure how to respond. A blow job is one thing; actually having sex with Hercules is another entirely. He settles for bluntness.

"Not interested, Herc. I'm straight and you're not particularly pretty. The fact that I might have found a use for you just now doesn't change that. Half the bed; nothing more."

Herc snorts disagreement."You're about as straight as I am. But don't worry. I'm sure I'll resist your charms tonight, somehow." He stands up. "I'm going to borrow your toothbrush and turn in."

 

Douglas wakes to movement and the bedside lamp bright. "What are you doing?"

"Paracetamol." Herc puts the glass of water down, turns the light off again. Douglas lies awake listening to him shifting around, the occasional small noise of discomfort.

"Is it bad?"

"Just hard to find a comfortable position."

This could go on all night. Douglas leans over to put the light back on. "Where does it hurt?"

A few minutes later, as he is kneeling behind Herc, rubbing anti inflammatory cream into the sore muscle, he catches sight of Herc's hand moving in his lap.

"Can't you put that thing away, Shipwright? I don't want your mess all over my sheets."

"Be fair. You got yours dealt with earlier. I didn't."

Douglas finishes rubbing, wipes his hand clean. "A spell on the balcony seemed to cure it last time. Want me to dig out the cable ties again?"

"Oh no, I don't think so, Richardson." Herc seems amused at the idea. "I push, you push back, is the deal. If you want to be a sadistic brute the rest of the time you'll have to find some other sucker to play with."

He rolls his shoulder, carefully. "That feels rather better, thank you. Now, since you're awake anyway and in the interests of continuing professional education, would you like to learn how to give a really good left-hand job? You can put it on your CV; I imagine that sorely needs a boost."

"And there was I wondering how you got into Air Caledonia. You may need to take lessons, Herc, but I am generally considered to be something of a natural talent in bed."

"Really? Because I don't know about beds but your bathtub technique is a little rough round the edges, to say the least. Maybe it would be better all round if you just watched. Pick up the basics, at least."

He is being flirted with. Teased, and just the mention of that bathtub has his cock twitching interest. Herc's shoulder under his hands as he'd rubbed in liniment had been warm and muscular. Here, in the established intimacy of the shared bed, he feels he has little to lose by following this up. As long as Herc doesn't intend to kiss him.

"Were you planning on giving a hands on demonstration first? I might be interested in that."

"Not first, no. You have after all been known to cheat, Douglas. I'd hate to get nothing out of you afterwards but those aggravatingly loud snores. I was thinking of something a little more simultaneous."

"Were you, indeed?" Douglas may be naturally sceptical but his cock is getting distinctly enthusiastic about the prospect of someone else's hand on it. Since Herc has now twisted round to face him, he hasn't got much chance of hiding it. "How does this fit in with the other stuff, then?"

"No real connection." Herc reaches down, slides his fingers gently up Douglas's twitching erection. "I could do with a little relief after yesterday evening, you're here with your straight cover comprehensively blown," His fingers are deft and Douglas doesn't stop them. "It's not any sort of conflict, this time. Just a bit of mutual relaxation, help us sleep."

Douglas suspects that it will take him quite a while to slide in and out of this thing as smoothly as Herc does. He'd said no roleplay, and it isn't, quite; more Herc's very definite views on what treatment he has or has not earned. Herc considers himself safe tonight and however much Douglas would love to prove him wrong, he's going to have to play by the rules, wait till the other man oversteps the mark again. This is a more subtle game than he first imagined.

In the meantime there is some merit in Herc's proposal, more still in the hand now sliding confidently up and down the shaft of his cock. Douglas reaches out, awkward lefthanded despite his earlier boast. "Just don't talk at me or you can do this yourself in the bathroom."

The feel of Herc's cock silky and stiff under his fingers is not unpleasant, exactly, just unfamiliar. It's been a long time since he's touched any penis but his own. He applies himself a little clumsily but with a touch of genuine enthusiasm, sliding his thumb slowly over the damp head then jerking fast until Herc is nothing but hissed breaths, slowing again almost to nothing until the man swears at him for a sadist and wraps his free hand around Douglas's fingers to move them.

"You want to do this? Or are you going to let me finish?"

Herc's hand falls away. "I've had a bloody rough night, and I did everything you wanted of me. Don't play games now."

"You got no more than you deserved," Douglas points out, but nevertheless he spits on his palm and goes harder and faster until Herc is grunting pleasure and spurting sudden and warm over his hand. The second orgasm of the night is not as automatic as it used to be; Douglas makes himself comfortable against the headboard, enjoying Herc's ministrations for some time longer, until his climax arrives almost without warning, a brief pleasurable convulsion.

"Now shut up and go to sleep." he tells the other man, and he rolls over, tugs his share of the duvet and a little bit more, and leaves Herc to turn out the light.

 

"Coffee again, gentlemen."

Not far below the plane the Alps are familiar glimpses of brown and grey between swirls of cloud. Douglas's eyes flicker automatically across half a dozen controls. "Bit low, aren't we?"

"I do know what I'm doing, Douglas!"

"Ice cloud layer's been down a little." Herc neatly interrupts Martin's indignation. "The Captain will take her up again when we clear it, I imagine. In the meantime if we have any hot beverage-related flight emergencies we'll be sure to call on you without hesitation."

Douglas puts down a mug in front of each man. "Surely your colleagues must be missing your incisive wit by now, Hercules? I'm sure you must have better ways to spend your time than playing "dodge Mont Blanc".

"Oh, the skipper and I are having fun, today. Aren't we, Martin?"

"Yes." Martin's eyes aren't shifting from the instruments which given the relative height of the plane and the mountains has Douglas's wholehearted approval for once. But he responds happily to Herc's prompt." We're onto film heroes with useless sidekicks"

"How appropriate." Douglas doesn't think for a moment that Herc is being self-deprecating. He's just stirring up trouble for Douglas by inflating Martin's ego. "Is that the only game you're going to be playing today, Herc? Because I thought I might join in the next one."

Meaning I've marked you pushing, and are we going to make something of it later?

Herc looks at him briefly under half-closed eyelids, then back at the console. "I played a game with you yesterday, remember? You ended up with all the Smarties. I'll leave it a while before I take you on again." He reaches for the coffee mug. "I'd better say thank you for the drink now, Douglas, since it looks like you'll be out of the galley and back here for the next flight."

And that's the verbal equivalent of rapidly backing off with his hands in the air. The memory of yesterday's inflicted miseries must be still too vivid. Douglas is pretty sure that this newfound caution won't last- he doesn't really want it to- but for now he'll take the hard earned victory with immense satisfaction.

"A game maybe next time, then. I'll let you alone for now."

As he comes back towards the galley he can feel the slight shift in balance; they are gaining height again. Away from trouble.

Carolyn looks up as he enters. "Is everything all right?"

He smiles, straightens his back a little in the taller space, picks up his own mug.

"Fine," he assures her. "Absolutely fine."

THE END


End file.
